When There's No Hope Anymore
by TheoreticallyEva
Summary: Nick's heart is shattered, and the whole world will pay for it. A one-shot inspired by Mister Mead's short comic, "The Darkest Places."


**A/N: This little ol' one-shot was inspired by Mister Mead's brilliant, shiver-inducing short comic "The Darkest Places" and the song "Hope" by Apocalyptica (the story's title is taken from the lyrics). I'm not even sure I think this story of mine is in keeping with Nick's character, but I wanted to experiment with it.**

 **This is the second darkish Zootopia fan fiction I've written, but I promise more cheerful things are on the way. :)**

* * *

" _This creature softened my heart of stone. She died, and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity."_

— _Josef Stalin, referring to his first wife, Kato Svanidze_

* * *

The first thing Mayor Howell thought as his eyes flitted open was that he felt strangely groggy. Why would he feel that way? Last he remembered, he was just sipping some tea while reading a security briefing at his desk. Just as it was occurring to him that the tea tasted a bit funny, his head had grown fuzzy while his eyelids drooped and closed. He had been powerless to stop them.

Blinking in alarm, Howell next registered that he was still in his office—but there was something heavy surrounding him. He realized it was rope keeping him bound firmly against his chair. Experimentally, he wriggled his wrists to find that they were tied together as well. Even with the natural strength bestowed upon him by nature as a gray wolf, he was unable to break them.

He beat back the urge to start hyperventilating and instead started glancing around, trying to find some clue as to what was happening. It was then that he noticed his chair had been moved to the middle of the room, situated so that it was facing his desk. The lights were off, but moonlight drifted through the transparent curtains shrouding the windows, telling him that he had been unconscious for several hours.

Finally, he had to suppress a yelp of surprise when his eyes landed on the darkly clad red fox leaning into one of the shadowy corners behind his desk, arms crossed as he scrutinized him with an unreadable expression. When the fox saw that Howell knew he was there, he stepped forward, allowing the wolf's night vision to see him more clearly with the help of the moonlight. He looked familiar. Howell squinted as he sorted through his memories, at last dredging up something related to one of his best but recently fallen ZBI agents. Yes, that's right, this fox had been married to her. What was his name? Something like… Nicholas… Nicholas…

"Wilde?" he guessed aloud. The fox's silent, stony glare confirmed he was right. "How did you get in here?"

At that, Wilde focused his stare on the middle space between them, the barest quirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "It's called a hustle, sweetheart," he murmured softly, but it seemed as though he were speaking to someone who wasn't in the room. The hint of madness that crept into the fox's dull green eyes was nerve-wracking.

Licking his lips anxiously, Howell dared to ask, "Wh-what's going on?"

Wilde's eyes snapped up to him then. He casually walked forward, closing the gap between them, and pulled a worn piece of paper from his back pocket. "Remember this?"

Howell leaned forward to study it. "The… The letter that I personally sent to Judy Hopps, inviting her to join the ZBI."

The fox didn't reply right away, taking his time to fold up the letter and return it to his pocket. "You were impressed with her accomplishments and talents and said that you needed someone like her in the bureau. She was ecstatic. She saw it as a sign that she was doing something right, and also as an opportunity to really make the whole _world_ a better place, not just Zootopia."

He strolled around the room, glancing idly around. Howell waited.

"She eventually decided to accept your invitation," Wilde continued. "She served in the bureau for three years until…"

Allowing his words to trail off, he halted behind the huge desk, leaned on it with both paws pressed flat against its surface, and turned his expectantly raised eyebrows toward Howell, who suddenly felt incredibly hot under his fur as realization dawned on him. It was clear the fox was going to let the silence stretch until Howell finished the sentence he started.

"Until she was killed," he mumbled as he gazed at the floor, trembling.

"And how was she killed?"

The question seemed to chill the air to temperatures below freezing. Howell chanced a look at Wilde, who was pinning him with a stare so icy that could have frozen hell itself. The intensity crushed Howell's breath, but he forced himself to find enough oxygen to answer. "She was undercover, helping bust an international drug cartel. She was compromised. The cartel captured her and threatened to kill her unless we gave up the identities of our other agents. At the time, we didn't have resources to spare for a rescue mission. We…" He swallowed thickly. "We let her die."

A minute or two of glacial silence passed before Wilde spoke again. Very quietly. "Why do you think I'm here, Howell?"

Unable to formulate a response, Howell simply shook his head, eyes pleading.

"She became part of an elite global network dedicated to solving problems around the world," Wilde answered for him, his expression unchanging, although his gaze moved to the middle space again. "You have agents in every major country _and_ a handful of smaller ones, constantly monitoring the issues and threats that plague our societies. You come up with plans to resolve those issues and eliminate those threats. You execute those plans. For the most part, you're well-equipped and highly respected. In many ways, you save the world every day. In many ways, you more or less _are_ the world. Somehow, though, you left her alone in her moment of need." He paused, and Howell could see his fingers curl into fists as he fought to control his breathing. "The world let her die."

Now he met Howell's eyes, and the naked fury and hatred in them halted the wolf's blood.

"So the world is just going to have to die, too," Wilde said with quiet, cool conviction.

Howell was aware that his mouth fell open in shock, but he didn't care. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"My guys are working on finding the codes for the nuclear missiles," Wilde explained calmly, shrugging as though he were simply talking about calling a plumber over to fix the pipes. "We'll aim the bombs everywhere. Later, we'll probably infiltrate other places with nuclear weapons and use them, too, just to make sure the flames don't stop." He slid his cell phone out of his front pocket and quickly checked the time before returning it. "They're taking a bit longer than I thought they would. I guess I could've helped them, but…" Now he flashed a toothy, mirthless grin in Howell's direction. "I really couldn't resist a meeting with the mayor himself."

Once he regained his breath, Howell whispered, "You can't do this."

"Can. Will. Doing it," Wilde quipped.

"Look, I—I'm so sorry about what happened to Judy," Howell exclaimed. "We were _all_ heartbroken about it. We wanted to save her, we really did. If I could go back and do things over again, I—I would absolutely make sure she was safe."

Reaching up to flick one of his own ears, Wilde sighed with mock patience and replied, "Hello, more empty apologies. Meet deaf ears. So nice to see you again."

"Please, Wilde, I—I don't know what else to do!"

"There's nothing you _can_ do," the fox snarled. "Nothing that would be good enough."

"But—"

"You _had_ the chance to do something when it _mattered_ ," Wilde snapped, pushing himself from the desk and moving in front of Howell's chair in a few quick strides. "You did _nothing_ —except treat her as expendable, cry your obligatory tears, and send someone to my _house_ to tell me that my wife was _never_ coming back!"

"Wilde, I…" The words got stuck in Howell's throat.

"You made your choice," Wilde said, pivoting and making his way toward a window. As he spoke, Howell thought he'd never felt anything colder than his voice. "Choices have consequences. In this case, the consequence is _my_ choice."

"Wait! Just think about it!" Howell cried, desperation coloring his tone. "Is this what Judy would have wanted?!"

Wilde rounded on him so abruptly and with such a ferocious growl that Howell thought the fox would rip his throat out right then and there. He couldn't help but emit a terrified gasp.

"Don't you _dare_ use that tired line on me!" Wilde hissed, baring all his fangs. " _No_ , this _isn't_ what she would've wanted, and that's _exactly_ why I'm going to do it!"

Howell could only look on confusedly as he tried to steady his own erratic breathing.

"You wouldn't understand," the fox sneered and sauntered away. Once he reached the window, he turned back around, paws slipping into his pockets. "But hey, we've got time, so I'll try to explain it to your puny mind anyway." After releasing a bitter chuckle, he added sarcastically, "Besides, my therapist said it's _good_ for me to talk about my feelings."

The ease with which Wilde settled into a slow, predatory pace from one end of the room to the other made Howell gulp.

"We were inseparable, she and I," Wilde said, the ghost of tenderness in his tone. "But we still argued from time to time. Some arguments would only last minutes. Others would take hours. I won every so often, but usually, she would convince me that she was right. Then we'd—" He cut himself off, his face contorting in pain, but it was gone in an instant. With a brief sigh, he continued. "A fair number of our disagreements stemmed from our outlooks on life. I was always more cynical than she was. Somehow, though, she always made me believe that there was still something in the world worth fighting for." He paused, his steps slowing to a stop and his mouth turned downward in a despondent frown. "Yes, she would have told me that I shouldn't do this. She would have argued with me about it. She would have said that there are still plenty of reasons to try to make the world a better place."

Then he pivoted to face Howell and fixed him with a bitingly icy stare. "But she's not _here_ to argue with me about it. She was _murdered_. And the fact that she's not here because she was _murdered_ is all the proof I need to rest my case that this world isn't worth the axis it's spinning on." He let silence writhe between them for a moment. "She's not here to argue with me anymore. Do you understand?"

Howell had no idea what to say. Fortunately, Wilde didn't actually seem to expect a response, as he turned his back on him to study the night sky through the nearest window, obscured though it was by the closed curtains. His next words were so quiet that Howell barely even heard them.

"A world that would destroy someone who only ever wanted to save it deserves to be destroyed. And…" He breathed out a pained sigh, thumping a resigned fist against the glass. "She was taken from me."

After another eternity of moments slunk past, Howell found the courage to speak again, barely noticing how his words came out almost as a whimper. "But she would have been _right_ , Wilde, I promise you. She'd be right that it's still worth it to improve the world. Believe me. There's still hope for—"

" _You don't get to say that to me_!" Wilde screamed as he whirled around, now panting furiously. "It's lies and hypocrisy, all of it! She _was_ hope! She _embodied_ hope, and you _killed_ her! The whole _world_ killed her! _THERE. IS. NO. HOPE._ "

The last four words were bellowed with such force and volume that Howell's ears felt permanently glued to the back of his head. If a hurricane could have a face, it would manifest itself as Wilde's at that moment. For what felt like hours, Howell gazed at it with bulging eyes and a dropped jaw, heart pounding belligerently against his chest. Then, slowly, painstakingly, Wilde seemed to put on a mask, bit by tiny bit, until his face was that carefully nonchalant yet cocky expression for which he was so well known. But it wasn't quite as seamless as it had been in the past. It reminded Howell of a puzzle whose pieces had seen so much wear and abuse that they no longer fit together like they should.

Something vibrated. Wilde fished his cell phone from his front pocket. His thumb made several swiping motions until his eyes rested on what must have been a text. He tapped out a quick reply before putting it back. With an arrogant smirk, he returned his attention to Howell.

"Looks like my team is done," he said. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Y-you're…" Howell started, taking a shaky breath before stumbling through his question. "You're n-not going to… k-kill me?"

The dark, quiet chuckle that frothed up from Wilde's chest chilled Howell's bones. "No, no, of course not. You should know—it's standard to want your most hated enemies to actually _watch_ everything that they know and love about their lives get destroyed. Prolongs their suffering, messes with their heads. No, Howell, I want you to witness the burning of the world firsthand. Besides," he whispered as he leaned forward, eyes sparking with loathing despite the amiable smile on his face, "killing you isn't what _Judy_ would have wanted, is it?"

Neither of them said another word when Wilde moved behind Howell and used an army knife to cut deftly through the ropes binding him. The fox then shuffled out of the office without glancing back.

Suddenly, Howell snapped to attention. The fear that had gripped him evaporated, overtaken by the desperate need to stop what was happening. He frantically rushed toward his desk and pressed the button on his phone that should connect him with his secretary. "Hello?!" he called.

There was no answer.

He tried another button. "Hello?!"

No answer there, either.

Button after button revealed silence.

He sprinted across the room and tried to yank open the door, but it was stuck. The handle wouldn't even turn.

" _Help_!" he screamed desperately, ramming into the door with his shoulder to no effect. Not even kicking it made any difference. " _Somebody help_! _The nuclear codes—Wilde has the nuclear codes_!"

Eyes flicking around, Howell hurried toward the windows. He tried to open them, but none would budge. At last, he picked up the chair and hurled it at the glass. To his relief, it shattered.

As he scrambled outside, ignoring the shards that lacerated his arms, paws, and legs, he opened his mouth to yell for someone, anyone, to help him.

The words faded in his throat when a series of explosions erupted in several of the surrounding wings and adjoining buildings of the city hall. Screams and alarms pierced the air as mammals flooded out of the doors, some of them injured. More bombs could be heard detonating miles away in the north, then the south. A couple of mammals who had just rushed out of the accounting office turned their eyes to the sky and pointed, horrified.

Howell looked up and saw missiles streaking in a dozen directions across the stars, dragging trails of fire behind them.

* * *

 **A/N: … Welp.**

 **I'mma go eat some chocolate.**


End file.
